


Extraordinary

by afterandalasia



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Space, Community: disney_kink, Crossover Pairings, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face-Sitting, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pussy Spanking, Rough Sex, Space Marines, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: Astrid is determined to be one of the those who makes the cut for the space marines, no matter what a hardass their new trainer, Sergeant Calhoun, seems to be. But when Calhoun catches her in unauthorised training after curfew, even Astrid is caught unprepared for the direction their argument takes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashleybenlove](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ashleybenlove).



> I will be the first to admit that it sounds really cool to have space marines riding dragons to fight Cy-bugs, but I’ve basically used it as the barest of set dressing for the porn. So, sorry in advance for that, I suppose, but I nearly got distracted by how cool that sounded.
> 
> Astrid is about RTTE age, so 18-19.

The new Sergeant was a bitch.

Astrid was not fool enough to say that out loud, of course, but _fuck_ if the new Sergeant didn’t push them hard, and then push them harder, telling them what she thought of them and making clear that she was not impressed. Astrid had come into the Space Marines with top marks in every class, fitness to rival the men, and it made anger burn in her chest when Sergeant Calhoun looked her in the eyes and threatened her with never being good enough.

Lights were down on the spaceship, their simulation of night, but Astrid had grabbed a lamp and broken back into the training units that were supposed to be closed. That was the thing about getting top marks; basic computerised locks became a lot easier to crack.

She pummelled the heavy bag, hard. A flurry of jabs and crosses, interspersed with blows from her knees or, bouncing back on her toes, powerful kicks that made the bag jump and jolt in place. The thuds of the bag and clanking of its chain echoed around the dim room as Astrid vented her anger, muscles burning and sweat trickling into her eyes as she kicked the bag, again and again, until her thigh began to ache.

Breathless, she dropped back again, staying on her toes and sharp as she circled around the bag. Stray strands of hair fell into her eyes, but she ignored them, shifting the grip of her fists before attacking again with a muted scream. The heavy synthleather barely gave to her knuckles, but that was part of the joy of it, the satisfaction of seeing it give at all in the way that it would not for plenty of others.

She was so focused that she noticed too late the door opening and the figure there scanning their torch around. Astrid whirled, hands still high as if ready to strike, squinting into the light.

“You’ll lose your night vision, doing that,” Sergeant Calhoun drawled.

This time, Astrid could not help the faint growl that slipped from her, even as she lowered her hands. Calhoun turned on the lights – of course she would have the clearance to do that – and turned off the torch, putting her hands on her hips and fixing Astrid with a steady, unyielding stare.

“What are you doing in here, Private?”

“Training,” Astrid replied. There was no point denying that she was somewhere that she was not supposed to be; the best that she could do, she supposed, was try to demonstrate that she was there for a good reason. “Took your words today to heart.”

“You’re after hours and out of bounds. I ought to haul your ass up for disciplinary.”

 _Ought to_ , Astrid heard. It had become clear almost immediately that Calhoun always meant exactly what she said, nothing more and nothing less. “I figured putting in more work wouldn’t hurt. Didn’t want to wake the barracks.”

She slipped back into the at-ease position, feet squared and hands loosely linked in the small of her back. Calhoun was not in uniform either, although her black shirt and slacks were smarter looking than Astrid’s cargo pants and the wifebeater clinging to her damp skin. Another note that Astrid hoped would be in her favour.

“Hmm,” said Calhoun, which was not an answer but still managed to sound displeased. She put down the torch on the vaulting horse pushed against the wall, and walked straight over, gaze locking onto Astrid’s. Astrid immediately responded by turning her eyes to the back wall, and keeping her chin high, trying to act as if she were on parade even when she was out of breath still. “You think beating up some bag is what you need to get better, Private Hofferson?”

Astrid’s hand tightened around her wrist, and she fought not to let herself scowl. “Heavy bag work is an important part of training, Sergeant.”

Calhoun stopped, just closer than a comfortable distance, and Astrid concentrated intensely on a spot over her left shoulder. But she could still see the considering look in Calhoun’s eyes, the slightest curl at the corner of her lips. Amusement or disdain, it was hard to say.

What Astrid did not expect was the punch. She barely dodged, instinct rather than thought, as Calhoun gave a left cross that would have knocked her to the floor. It was followed with a right jab, which Astrid blocked with ease, but she was not in time to stop the knee that slammed into her gut and doubled her over with a grunt.

“You’re the best in the class, Hofferson,” said Calhoun. “Some bag isn’t going to do anything for you. The training dummies, maybe. You’ve got a brain as well as those muscles, ought to be making use of them.”

Astrid straightened up, feeling her cheeks grow hot with humiliation and anger both at the same time. “Is that why you chewed me out this morning, Sergeant?”

“You could do better.”

“I _am_ better,” Astrid snapped, before common sense could stop her from mouthing off at a superior officer in that way. “I’m better than anyone else out there.”

Calhoun fixed her with steely blue eyes. “And that’s why I expect the most from you.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Astrid said, quite aware that her words did not sound that respectful at all, “I fail to see how talking to me like that is going to do anything for the rest of the men.”

“That wasn’t for the men,” said Calhoun. “That was for you. And you’ve pushing harder the harder I push you, so something is clearly working.”

Astrid glared. Sergeant Calhoun was six inches taller than her, and had a damn fine record to go with it. The stories said she had become a First Class Sergeant at only twenty-seven, bonded with a Monstrous Nightmare and after seven years in the role had come back to train the ones that were supposed to be the next wave of space marines vying to became dragon riders and go after the Cy-Bug menace. Astrid had seen her fight, seen her take apart test dummies, level half a dozen trainees in the hand-to-hand fighting, hit a perfect score with a plasma rifle at two hundred yards. Sure, Astrid respected her as a soldier, but that didn’t mean she had to _like_ her.

“Why?” Calhoun continued. “You planning to throw in the towel?”

The barb cut straight under Astrid’s skin. The space marines were the _best_ ; fewer than half of the trainees would even make it to the end of the course to meet their dragons, and Astrid was sure as hell going to be one of them. Before she could think, she had thrown her own punch, a fierce right hook that Calhoun deflected, turning into Astrid’s both and jabbing with her elbow. It would have struck Astrid’s temple, but Astrid flung herself backwards, springing off her hands in a perfect flip to land on her feet again.

“Not bad,” said Calhoun.

It was the dismissive tone that was the worst part. Not _bad_ , of course. But not even acceptable. With a growl, Astrid lunged back in, aiming a fast one-two at Calhoun’s stomach – deflected – but succeeding in kicking the back of her leg out from under her. Calhoun went down, but caught Astrid as she did so, and with muscles like steel she rolled and twisted them, so that the next thing Astrid knew she was face-down on the mat, one arm twisted up behind her back, Calhoun pinning her down with the weight of her body. Astrid could feel taut breasts against her back, thighs beside her hips, the heat of Calhoun’s body pouring into hers.

Fuck, it was a turn on.

“You could be good,” Calhoun said. It took Astrid a moment to realise that it was barely above a whisper, breathed in her ear. She could feel the brush of Calhoun’s breath against her cheek, and closed her eyes as she tried not to imagine touching herself, tried not to squirm her hips against the floor. “You could be really fucking good, Hofferson; you’ve got the skills, and you’ve got the drive. But have you got it takes;” Astrid’s eyes went wide as Calhoun’s hips ground against her; “to get what you _want_?”

The pressure on Astrid’s wrist released, and that was enough. She twisted like a snake in Calhoun’s grip, got an arm to the sergeant’s neck, and rolled them back across the floor. Calhoun’s legs locked around her, pinning their hips together, but Astrid managed to get a hand to her throat and pin her to the ground. No surprise in her eyes, though, which was what Astrid really wanted; just for once, she wanted to get the upper hand on the Sergeant who pushed so hard.

She might have been able to keep her mind on the goal had Calhoun not grabbed her by the hair and hauled her down into a kiss. It hurt, pulling at her scalp, but the heat of the mouth against hers, the tongue thrusting between her lips, ran straight through her. Astrid ground back with her hips in return, aggressively, and grunted with arousal as a hand closed on her breast and pinched her nipple hard.

“You want this?” Calhoun hissed, between their kisses.

Astrid bit her lip hard enough for Calhoun to grunt. “Fuck you,” she said, but even she knew that it was more desire than anger. She rolled their hips, aware of the heat of Calhoun’s body, wondering if Calhoun was just as wet and yearning to be fucked. If the scrape of her nails on Astrid’s scalp was any indication, she definitely was. “I’ll be better than you’ll ever expect.”

“Good,” said Calhoun. She rolled them again, slamming Astrid down, hard, onto the mat. Astrid wheezed as the air was pushed out of her, then realised that Calhoun was getting to her feet.

“What the fuck–” she began.

“Get up,” Calhoun said; it wasn’t all that necessary, as Astrid was already surging to her feet. Astrid was about to snap a question, but then she saw the lust in Calhoun’s eyes. “What, you think we’re staying here?”

True, nobody was _supposed_ to be training at this time of night, but the two of them had come there already and as bad an idea as fucking her Sergeant was, fucking her Sergeant on the gym floor was probably a worse one. Astrid grabbed her towel and water bottle from where she had placed them beside the heavy bag. “Sure,” she said.

It was a strange feeling, following Calhoun through the dim halls knowing exactly where they were going. They didn’t meet anyone along the way, but even if they had, it would have meant only nods and acknowledgements. Private Hofferson following Sergeant Calhoun’s orders, nothing more. And all the way, Astrid was watching Calhoun’s tight ass and lean thighs beneath her slacks, the pull of the shirt across her shoulders. Even the seam of her cargo pants through her shorts was unbearable, a dull throb of pleasure that made her want to throw sense to the wind and push Calhoun up against the wall to rut against her thigh.

It was only a short walk to Calhoun’s quarters, though, as unbearable as the distance felt, and barely were they through the door when Calhoun whirled and pinned Astrid against it, slamming her against the wood. Astrid’s towel and water dropped from her hands as Calhoun pushed her against the wood, rubbing her thigh hard against Astrid’s cunt through her pants, hands on her wrists and mouth on her mouth. Astrid moaned, doing her best to return the favour with her own thigh, but it was hard when she was pinned firmly in place and she was already tensing with the pleasure of firm thigh and just-rough-enough fabric against her clit.

“You going to come already?” whispered Calhoun, biting her ear. It was just hard enough to hurt. “Maybe your stamina needs work.”

Astrid tried to snarl something back, but Calhoun just rocked against her harder, ground into her clit, pinned her tight to the door with her body. It came out an incoherent growl instead, and she was not even sure whether it was the pressure of Calhoun’s hard body in general or her thigh in particular that tipped her into orgasm.

It crashed through her, as hard as any fight, pounding in her chest and making her gasp and grunt as Calhoun rode her through it, pushed her, leaving her underwear soaked and her pussy throbbing as lust burnt like a flashover through her chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said, and might have been saying it before but had not been able to hear herself over the pounding in her ears. Astrid opened her eyes again, to see that Calhoun had drawn back far enough to look down at her. She was smirking. As her brain came back, Astrid tilted her chin and held her ground. “Not _bad_ , Sergeant,” she said, a deliberate echo of Calhoun’s earlier words.

To judge by the slip of Calhoun’s smirk towards a smile, she appreciated it. Grabbing the opportunity, Astrid planted a foot against the door and pushed off, hard. It must have caught Calhoun off-guard – either that, or Calhoun allowed herself to be pushed onto the bed, and Astrid was not sure that Calhoun allowed herself to be pushed anywhere. They landed in a tangle of limbs, and Astrid immediately straddled Calhoun’s hips, grabbing her shirt to haul it open. Buttons pinged off.

“Good grip,” said Calhoun.

“Or poor sewing,” Astrid mocked.

It might have been too much. Calhoun scowled, and bucked her hips, almost throwing Astrid aside and making her plant her hands on the bed to steady herself. She grabbed Astrid’s hips with one hand, and with the other gripped the front of her wifebeater and yanked. Astrid felt as much as heard the rip of the fabric, and tried to grab it but utterly failed. Beneath, she was wearing only a simple sports bra, and had no hope of stopping Calhoun’s deft fingers from undoing it in a flick and tugging it down her arms.

“Poor sewing,” Calhoun said, with a cock of her eyebrow.

Astrid snorted, pulling upright to tug off her bra and what remained of her ruined shirt. Fuck it; she would worry about that later. Right now, she was more interested by the glint in Calhoun’s eyes, the hands that roamed up along the lean lines of her six-pack.

“Not bad.”

“Better than half the men’s,” Astrid retorted. “What about yours?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Astrid lunged down to kiss her, hard, keeping her tongue forceful and all but pinning one of Calhoun’s shoulders to the bed. Calhoun’s hands went straight to her breasts, squeezing her nipples, tugging just enough to hurt.

She wrestled Calhoun’s shirt off, made awkward by trying to keep the pressure of the kiss, but she could not imagine anything other than winning the unspoken battle. Never had done.

“Now,” she said, finally drawing away. Calhoun’s mouth was flushed and wet, and if Astrid hadn’t already been turned on just the sight would have been enough. She’d be masturbating to that sight for _months_. “I believe I owed you.”

It was only mostly joking. Astrid had never been good at feeling indebted to anyone, either, no matter what the particulars might be. She knelt up, then rested one foot on the floor and one knee on the bed, all but standing between Calhoun’s parted legs. Undoing Calhoun’s belt and zipper, in one sharp move she stripped her from the waist down, pushing everything down about her knees.

Calhoun was left in just her bra, slightly out of breath but not sweating, and for a beat Astrid drank in the lines of her body, the taut muscles beneath her skin. Her abs, the tight V of her hips, the contours of her thighs. Astrid knew just what it took to get a body like that, as well as what it took to maintain it. She knew that it meant hours of working out, sparring, training, and she imagined Calhoun streaming with sweat with her muscles burning, or plunging through the water as she swam.

It wasn’t as if Astrid spent much time trying to figure out what she expected of Sergeant Calhoun’s pubic hair. Hell, it wasn’t as if she spent that much time worrying about her own, beyond the odd trim to keep it in line. But somehow she wasn’t all that surprised to see the tidy shape of a landing strip, everything else waxed away to bare, smooth skin. Astrid snorted, put her hands on Calhoun’s thighs… and hesitated.

She sure as hell knew what she wanted, whatever Calhoun’s taunts. She wanted her mouth on that pussy, she wanted Calhoun screaming as she came, and somewhere along the line she wanted Calhoun to damn well reciprocate and do something about that yearning in her own cunt. And fuck, she’d watched enough porn, read enough porn, spent enough time with her hand between her thighs. But that didn’t stop the moment of trying to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to do next.

Mouth. Pussy. Pushing her hesitation aside, she bent down, but apparently it had been just long enough as Calhoun sat up, sharply, and grabbed her by the chin. Astrid grunted as she was caught in the awkward, half-bent-over position, and she glared at Calhoun.

“Do you want me to fucking eat you out, or not?” she snapped, as best she could with her jaw in Calhoun’s hand.

But Calhoun’s eyes were glittering, and her smile grew wider. “I _knew_ it,” she said. “Are you a virgin, Hofferson? Was that the first time that anyone else even got you off?”

Astrid felt her cheeks grow hot, but tried to play it off as anger. “What does it matter?”

Wrong, she realised immediately. She should have said, what _would_ it matter. She had answered Calhoun’s question without even meaning to.

Calhoun laughed, a sharp bark of humour, but released Astrid’s jaw. Astrid straightened up. “Hey, you ain’t doing bad. I lost my virginity, I was fumbling around like a damn moron. You _do_ know what you want, I’ll give you that.”

“I want,” Astrid growled, “to stop fucking _talking_.”

She grabbed Calhoun to kiss her again, still feeling the tension inside her, yearning to know what Calhoun’s pussy tasted like. She wasn’t sure that the taste alone wouldn’t get her off; barracks weren’t exactly the best for privacy, Astrid had never been one to successfully be able to get off in a toilet cubicle. Her pussy still felt like it was on a hair trigger, wet shorts and pants rubbing against her as she moved.

Calhoun rolled her to the bed again. “Mother _fucker_ ,” Astrid growled as she was pushed down, although at least it was a marginally softer landing this time. She lay spread-eagled, scowling, as Calhoun gave her a wicked look and shifted up her body.

A hand wound into her hair, and just as Calhoun straddled her face, knees either side of her shoulders, Astrid realised just what she meant. The clothes still stretched between Calhoun’s ankles strained across Astrid’s chest, pinning her in place, and the weight of her shins came down on Astrid’s shoulders.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen, Hofferson,” said Calhoun. “I’m gonna fuck your face, and we’ll see how good that tongue of yours is, and then I’m gonna finger that tight little pussy of yours until you forget your own damn name. You hear me?”

“Those stripes don’t mean a fucking thing in here,” said Astrid.

Calhoun smirked, and Astrid did not have time to say anything more before Calhoun’s cunt was against her lips. She grabbed Calhoun’s hips with both hands, without thinking, the taste of salt and skin on her tongue as Calhoun rolled her hips like she was just toying with Astrid.

It was clear that Astrid hadn’t been the only one getting off. Calhoun’s pussy was wet, practically dripping, smearing on Astrid’s cheeks and lips. Instinct took over, and Astrid chased Calhoun’s labia with her tongue, firm against the skin, drinking in the taste of her.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Calhoun groaned, drawing out the words. “For a damn rookie – ngh,” she rolled her hips against Astrid’s face, and it was almost suffocating, her cunt grinding on Astrid’s lips and against the tip of her nose, “you really ain’t bad.”

Astrid smacked her on the thigh, hard enough for her palm to sting, and Calhoun gasped and _thrust_ against her face, Astrid panting as she played with her tongue at Calhoun’s entrance. With her other hand she reached down and undid her own pants, slipping a hand beneath to her aching pussy. Her underwear was sopping, sticking to her skin as she shoved it aside and set to working quick circles on her clit.

“You wish you were doing this?” said Calhoun. Her other hand wound into Astrid’s hair as well – Calhoun’s was a little longer, falling into her eyes, but Astrid kept hers trimmed short. Not short enough, apparently, to stop fingers tightening on it. She held Astrid’s head in place, between her hands and her iron-hard thighs, and Astrid found herself equal parts frustrated and turned-on as Calhoun ground against her, frotting against her like some toy that just happened to have a tongue. Her fingers moved more frantically on her clit as Calhoun began to gasp and the thrusts of her hips grew harder. “You wish you were the one fucking my face? Wish it was my tongue in your pussy? You better keep wishing, private, fuck, _fuck, ah!_ ”

Astrid could _feel_ the clenching of Calhoun’s cunt as she orgasmed, a rush of heat against her skin and muscles tightening in spasms right against her lips. Her mouth found Calhoun’s clit, and she sucked against it, rewarded with another cry and a shudder that ran all down Calhoun, muscles tensing.

But Calhoun was right, at least about the wishing. Perhaps she had intended it, intended for Astrid to picture what it would be like to fuck Calhoun’s mouth, pin _her_ down helplessly and see that sharp tongue used for pleasure, those cheeks smeared with Astrid’s juices. Before she knew it, she was coming a second time, moaning against Calhoun’s pussy with her back arching against the bed, sensitive skin seeming to pulse beneath her fingers. She closed her eyes, head whirling with the smell of sex, the taste of it on her lips and the warmth of skin against her face, and only opened them again when she felt hands uncurling from her hair and the kiss of cool air against her skin.

Calhoun sat aside, finally taking off her boots and pushing off her pants. She unhooked her bra and flung it aside thoughtlessly, revealing fully her high, taut breasts with small pink nipples. Her thighs were shining, the skin of her pussy flushed and pink in the wake of her orgasm, and fuck if she wasn’t the hottest woman that Astrid had ever seen. Two orgasms in, her own pussy showed no signs of slowing down, either, and she wondered whether she had been more sexually frustrated than she realised.

“Get your damn clothes off, Hofferson,” said Calhoun, still sitting on the bed and not moving an inch to help. “’Bout time you did some of the damn work.”

“Sure,” said Astrid, rolling her eyes as she sat up. Fucking _laces_ on her boots; she cursed herself for doing them up properly as she undid them again as hastily as possible. She kicked them off, followed them with her socks, and partially stood up to slip off her shorts and cargo pants and push them aside as well.

Just as she was sitting back down again, she was grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back; before she knew it, Calhoun was wrestling her to the bed, grappling skin-on-skin. Astrid growled deep in her throat and fought back, getting Calhoun’s hand and twisting it to lock her wrist, slamming her onto her back. It wouldn’t take much, she figured, to return the favour, to show Calhoun that Astrid could play just as dirty and fuck just as hard as she could. She moved her leg to straddle Calhoun’s head, but Calhoun twisted beneath her, pulling on her arm, and it was have her shoulder dislocated or down to the bed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Astrid said. Her arm was pulled around, and she found herself on her front again, Calhoun pinning her from behind. But this time there were no clothes in the way, and she could feel Calhoun’s wet cunt against her ass, Calhoun’s nipples brushing her back. “You sonova _bitch_ , you–”

“Are you gonna keep fighting,” said Calhoun, right in her ear again, “or are you gonna be a good girl and take the fucking I’m gonna give you like the little bitch that you are?”

Astrid snarled, squirming, but her arm was locked behind her back and then Calhoun reached round and rubbed immediately, insistently, at her clit. The snarl choked itself, turning to a moan.

“I thought so,” said Calhoun smugly. “So tell me, Hofferson,” her voice was almost casual, even as she was rubbing hard and firm, hands slippery with Astrid’s desperate arousal, “you been getting off beneath your covers at night? Biting those pretty pink lips of yours as you finger yourself, to stop the others hearing? Or have you been holding off, huh?”

She gave Astrid’s locked arm a twitch, and Astrid grunted in pain and pleasure, free hand tightening on the sheets. Her hips rocked inexorably against Astrid’s ass, but Astrid was only vaguely aware, feeling the pulsing hot lust in her cunt building yet again.

“Fuck you,” she wheezed, not clear-headed enough to manage anything more.

Calhoun laughed. “Real imaginative, Hofferson. I bet they’ve been getting off to thoughts of you. Thinking about pounding this cunt of yours.”

She interspersed her words with a slap, right to Astrid’s pussy, and Astrid cried out at the bolt of sensation that ran through her. Whatever fight there might have been left seemed to collapse from under her as lights flashed behind her eyes, not even orgasm but almost as intense.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Calhoun slapped her again; it stung, and throbbed, and Astrid buried her face in the sheets as she sobbed with pleasure. “You like it rough, Hofferson? Like me slapping,” another blow, and Astrid shuddered and sobbed again, “that little cunt of yours? Maybe I just oughtta do this instead of fingering you. Figures you’d be the sorta dirty slut that gets off to anything.”

Fuck, it felt as if anything _would_ get her off just then. Astrid moaned into the blankets as yet another blow caught her, right to the clit and sending such a bolt of pleasure up her spine that she spasmed in Calhoun’s hold. Getting off had always seemed as much a chore as an enjoyment, something to get out of the way so that she could get on with things, but Calhoun was stringing her out and making her whole body tremble, leaving her useless and incapable of words.

“Lucky for _you_ ,” Calhoun slid two fingers deep into her, and Astrid gave a strangled cry against the bed at the welcome intrusion. She started to pump, leaving Astrid panting in time as the thrusts of pleasure rushed through her, finally plugging an aching gap that had not even been there before Calhoun had started fucking her. “I know what I’m doing.” She laughed again. “I’ve been fucking men and women since before you were born, Hofferson, you know that? You get off on it?”

She thrust faster with her fingers, then added a third, and Astrid slammed her free hand against the bed as the pleasure built. Three fingers felt as if they were stretching her out, touching all parts of her at once, filling up her cunt and making her want to fuck back with her hips in return.

“You get off on me knowing what I’m doing? Knowing just how to fuck this tight little virgin pussy of yours?” Harder, until it was almost uncomfortable, shifting her fingers so as to stretch the entrance of Astrid’s pussy around them. Astrid cried out again as Calhoun shifted, pinning her shoulders harder to the bed but keeping her on her knees with her ass on the air and cunt on full display. The force of her hand was rocking Astrid against the bed, with increasing speed as Calhoun worked harder. Her voice was becoming breathless. “Lucky for you, Hofferson, I get off on fucking overconfident little girls like you, putting you in your place, and making you scream to the fucking stars. You think you’re fucking tough, huh, joining the Space Marines? Beating the guys? And yet here’s me with my fingers in your cunt and you just some whimpering little slut for me.”

Astrid turned her head sideways, enough to speak, smirking through the thrusts against the sheets that she could do nothing to control. “I seem to remember you,” she said, or at least panted, “screaming pretty fucking hard when I was – ah!”

Calhoun withdrew her fingers, leaving a terrible ache behind, and slapped her pussy harder than ever. She wanted desperately to touch herself, to hit the orgasm that she could feel building and swelling in her until she wanted to scream from the sheer frustration of it.

It was all Astrid could do to open her eyes and fix them on Calhoun again, keen and lustful. She _did_ remember what it had been like to hear Calhoun come, and feel her muscles clenching. If Calhoun was getting satisfaction out of this, Astrid doubted it was anything to what _she_ was feeling right now even with her shoulder cramping and her thighs shaking.

“When I was going down on you,” Astrid said, then moaned as Calhoun rubbed her clit again. Her hand tightened in the sheets until it ached, and she arched her hips up into Calhoun’s touch. “And at least,” she added, half-growled, “I let you come when I was doing it.”

One more slap to her pussy, and Astrid choked and pressed her cheek to the bed again.

“Don’t think I haven’t been counting, Hofferson. But I suppose,” Astrid felt something enter her again, without the fingers ever stopping on her clit. Calhoun’s thumb, she realised, but it was enough, and she clenched the muscles of her cunt around it as Calhoun’s fingers quickened their work. “You did have some skill with that mouth of yours. So, you want to come, Hofferson?” Astrid moaned against the damp sheets; Calhoun’s grip on her wrist tightened, until her shoulder stabbed with pain. “I asked if you wanted to _come_ , Hofferson,” Calhoun growled.

“Yes!” Astrid snapped. She was gasping for breath, face red and hot and heartbeat pounding in her ears, and all that she could think about was the ache in her cunt, the fucking _need_ to come before she went mad from the pressure of it. “Yes, I want to fucking come, you’ve been fingering my pussy to – ah!”

Calhoun did _something_ with her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what it was but the rhythm made her tremble, and each pant turned to moans turned to muted screams with each thrust of Calhoun’s head, pushing her into the bed with each touch. This time, her orgasm did not seem to hit all at once, but rushed and pulsed and throbbed through her, and before Astrid knew it was she was screaming wordlessly into the sheets, Calhoun’s hands pushing her on insistently until she felt the heat of tears in her eyes from the intensity of it.

Her ears were ringing, throat rough from her moans, and Calhoun just laughed as she slapped Astrid’s pussy one more time. This time the sting was pain more than pleasure, and as Astrid’s arm was released she rolled onto her back, panting for air and rubbing her stiff shoulder.

“Not bad,” said Calhoun. She sat on the edge of the bed, stretching her arms above her head. “But you’d benefit from some practice.”

Astrid pushed herself up to a seated position and glared. She could feel that her hair was sticking up in an uneven, ruffled manner, while Calhoun’s still managed to look effortlessly elegant as it swept across her forehead. Her pussy stung and throbbed between her legs, her brain still feeling half washed-out in the wake of the third orgasm, but she certainly knew enough to feel the sting of her pride.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe if you think I’m done then _you’re_ the one who needs to work on your stamina.”

Before Calhoun could respond, she scooted across the bed to sit flush behind her, wrapping her legs around Calhoun’s to pin them open. Calhoun made a wordless sound, shock and irritation blending together, when Astrid plunged a hand between her thighs, zeroing in on her clit and making the same firm circles that Calhoun had used on her.

“Mm,” said Astrid. “Still feels like you’re pretty ready to me, Sergeant. Guess you really were getting off on that, huh? That get you wet?”

Her left hand snaked right to join her right, and she buried two fingers into Calhoun’s pussy, earning a moan and a roll of Calhoun’s hips. Calhoun gripped Astrid’s arms, but let her legs be held apart, let Astrid’s hands work blindly between her thighs. The angle almost made it easier, though, knowing that curling her fingers just _so_ would earn another muted cry, Calhoun’s head hanging forwards.

She kissed and bit at Calhoun’s shoulders, even as she admired the lines of the muscle there. The coiled power in Calhoun’s thighs, the swell of her arms. But her hands were on Calhoun’s pussy, and there most of her attention stayed, fingers of her right teasing at Calhoun’s folds and clit while with her left she thrust as deep as she could, until her knuckles were wet and brushing against the warm bare skin there.

“I – fuck, Hofferson,” said Calhoun, her voice cracking, and Astrid bit harder at the base of her neck, curving her fingers to Calhoun’s inner walls and applying her touch directly to her clit. She knew that there was less finesse, less teasing, but she deliberately pushed, unable to hide her own smirk at the speed with which she could draw Calhoun to the brink of orgasm again.

“You want that?” Astrid said, voice rough and husky. “You want me to fuck you like this?”

“You ain’t a tease, Hofferson, I’ll give you that,” Calhoun panted. Already the muscles in her cunt were shifting, half-clenching, and Astrid used her thighs to hold Calhoun’s legs open.

“Facing the door,” she said, soft and breathy at the base of Calhoun’s neck. “All spread out like this? Hope you remembered to lock it, Sergeant, unless you want someone coming in and finding you like this.” She slipped her fingers down to Calhoun’s entrance, just for long enough to get them slippery with arousal again before returning them to Calhoun’s warm, swollen clit. “You might’ve been flashing my pussy to the world, but at least they couldn’t see my face.”

The bucking of Calhoun’s hips grew faster, and she almost cried out, stifling it into a moan as Astrid felt her shuddering to orgasm. She clenched hard around Astrid’s fingers, groan turning ragged with her breaths and almost becoming muted screams again as Astrid _pushed_ , further, dragging out the orgasm until Calhoun was juddering in her arms and the arch of her back implied that there was an edge of pain to it all.

With a final grunt, Calhoun twisted in Astrid’s grip, pushing her arms away. Astrid’s fingers felt sticky and hot, but she couldn’t help the smug smile as Calhoun turned, kneeling on the bed to face her.

“Stamina, huh?” said Astrid.

Calhoun lunged across her, kissing her hard on the mouth again. Astrid wound her hand into Calhoun’s hair – she had always wondered what it would be like to make that longer hair a target – and dragged teeth over her lips. Her whole body pulsed, still tense and yearning, even if it was not half so desperate as it had felt when first Calhoun had pinned her to the wall.

“Okay, Hofferson,” breathed Calhoun against her lips. “You got some damn stamina.”

Calhoun pinned her to the bed, straddling one leg and pushing her thigh against Astrid’s cunt again. Moaning, Astrid let her, squeezing hard at Calhoun’s breasts with her free hand, pinching at the nipple. Rolling her hips, Calhoun began to fuck her, hard muscle grinding down on Astrid’s clit in smooth rolls that lit everything to fire in Astrid once again.

Planting her foot against the bed, she rolled them back over on the rumpled sheets, keeping their legs entwined and then shifting as they settled. She pushed their cunts together, lips to lips, releasing Calhoun’s hair to hold her legs open.

“Never said I was finished, Sergeant,” she said, rocking her hips in turn. It was a strange feeling, the bare skin of Calhoun’s cunt and the rougher drag of her own pubic hair, and she adjusted them again. Holding Calhoun’s thigh across her stomach gave her some leverage, a better angle, and Calhoun gave a pleased huff as Astrid ground them together again. “So, you still think I’m a rookie?”

It was strangely gratifying when Calhoun laughed. She ran her nails across Astrid’s stomach, squeezed hard at her breasts, and rocked in time with the movements of Astrid’s hips. “Oh, I know you’re a damn rookie. But I did say – ah! – that you could be good.”

Astrid could feel the muscles in her stomach working to keep just the right angle, that place where the pressure of Calhoun’s pubic bone was just right to get her off, slick and soft and firm all at once. But she would have to admit that she was getting more just from the sight of Calhoun pinned down, taking her turn as the one being fucked into the mattress. There was a power about it, she had to say, even if she needed her hands and could not take a turn pinning Calhoun’s wrists down. She could, and did, dig her nails into the hard lines of Calhoun’s quads, until Calhoun hissed between those perfect, shining teeth.

“And I did say,” she responded, seeing the lift of Calhoun’s chin and the tension that ran through her, “that I already was.”

She rocked her hips harder, deliberate thrusts, to hear Calhoun softly grunt. That as much as the grind against her cunt built the pleasure in her gut, tense in her muscles and hot in her sex.

“You like that?” Astrid panted. There was sweat on Calhoun’s skin as well now, and she wondered distantly how long it had been there. How long they had been equal, slowly burning muscles and damp skin together. She smirked. “You like getting fucked, Sergeant?”

Calhoun’s eyes opened again, and Astrid had just enough time to see the warning gleam there before Calhoun pushed upwards. She wrapped her leg around Astrid, using it for leverage, and Astrid gave an angry growl as they were rolled again, this time right off the bed and slamming down onto the low-carpeted floor. It was rough against her back, uncomfortable beneath her aching shoulders, and Calhoun pinned her down with an almost carnivorous smile.

“You think you know how to fuck, rookie?” She thrust back, and Astrid groaned; it was almost too hard, grinding down on her clit, Calhoun’s hands tight on her forearms. Calhoun began to circle her hips, and Astrid fought against the waves of hard pleasure that rocked her, until it was too much and she found herself panting again. “You think you fuck like a marine?”

She smirked, and leant a little further forwards, and the angle made Astrid whimper despite herself as pleasure throbbed in her pussy. Calhoun’s chuckle might have been at the impotent sound.

“You think you fuck like a dragon, huh?” Calhoun pressed, voice husky. “All blazing hot and powerful?” The movements of her hips were like a rhythm with her words, and Astrid’s head thudded back onto the floor, still torn between fighting back and giving in to the orgasm that she could feel building in her again, deeper and harder this time than any of the ones before. “Lemme tell you, Hofferson, you ain’t nothing but some Terrible Terror humping away at a leg. Me, I’m already a dragon rider, so you want me to show you how a dragon rider fucks?”

The movements of her hips became harder, almost driving against Astrid’s. Astrid tried to wrest her arms free, but all she succeeded in doing was writhing beneath Calhoun, the carpet seeming ever rougher against her back, ever more of a counterpoint to the pussy grinding on hers.

“You want me to show you how a dragon fucks, Hofferson?” Calhoun laughed. “You get through, you’ll have to oversee mating season too. You ever seen a dragon fuck, huh?”

If she opened her mouth, she knew that she would be crying out again, as pleasure curled tighter in her until he was almost pain. Astrid bit the inside of her lip, met Calhoun’s eye defiantly, and shook her head.

The muscles in Calhoun’s shoulders shone in the dim night-time light setting of the room, her hair a mussed golden blur that glowed around her face. Calhoun’s shadowed eyes shone, and it was only hotter, the straight-laced hard-driving sergeant turned half-feral and fucking her on the floor, all struggling and tangled limbs.

“Well, you’re in luck, Hofferson.” Calhoun bent over her, movement of her hips restricted to slow, easing shifts, and lowered her voice. She scraped her teeth over Astrid’s ear, and Astrid shuddered, straining to keep back from the edge of climax and not be the one to come first again. “Because I’m gonna fuck you like a dragon,” she breathed, breath hot and incongruously soft on Astrid’s skin, “and I’m gonna make you come harder than you ever have before, and then we’re gonna see who’s got the stamina.”

Astrid tried to say something back, but it came out a sort of incoherent, stuttered moan. Calhoun released a wrist in order to turn her cheek, and as their lips met again Astrid grabbed Calhoun’s hips.

The kiss was messy, ragged, tongues struggling against each other before pulling apart with the rock of their bodies. Astrid used her hand to steer Calhoun’s hips as best she could, until white sparks were flashing behind her eyes and her pussy felt as if it were pounding, desperate for the climax that Astrid could feel threatening and kept at bay by will alone.

Calhoun grunted, and Astrid recognised it, the way that her hips tried to shift. That same building tension, that same defiance. She wrapped her leg around Calhoun’s ass and dug in the nails of her hand harder, clinging to her.

“I will see you come again,” Astrid hissed. She bit at Calhoun’s lips, at the base of her jaw, as Calhoun closed her eyes and the rhythm of her hips became unsteady. “You get off on that?” Astrid dug her nails in harder, until she felt Calhoun flinch. “Fucking me on the floor, like you ain’t some sergeant, just some common slut, huh?”

“Fuck you, Hofferson,” Calhoun grunted, but it gave way to a tight moan as orgasm washed down over her. Astrid felt her shuddering, going to pull away, but pinned her closer and continued to frot against her, slick skin and rough hair against her clit, until Calhoun’s moan turned to a keen and she hung her head, thrusting irregularly. It broke off into short, panted cries, but Astrid took a gut-deep pleasure in drawing them from Calhoun’s lips, grinding them down to groans and shivering.

Calhoun’s hips slipped, her body losing its tautness against Astrid’s, but she opened her eyes and pushed herself up on her hands, pushing her thigh up into Astrid’s cunt again. Around and around, Astrid supposed, or at least did so for a moment before Calhoun’s thigh thrust against her cunt.

She let herself tumble into orgasm, like stepping backwards from the edge of a cliff and falling to weightlessness in the air. It rippled through her, flushing in her muscles, releasing every ounce of tension as she closed her eyes and let colours flash behind them. The rough thrusts of Calhoun’s thigh pushed her deeper, and Astrid cried out at the white-hot intensity of it, crashing in her ears until she could barely hear herself.

Settling down was feather-light, deceleration as good as any plane could manage, and Calhoun rolled off to lay beside her on the floor. Astrid realised that one of her ankles was resting on the very clothes that she had shed, but her muscles were too spent to do anything other than look up at the ceiling and wait for her mind to work again.

Calhoun began to laugh. Not predatory or sly, but true, honest laughter, and Astrid looked across at her with a frown. With a snort, Calhoun slapped at Astrid’s thigh, barely more than a swat, then rolled up onto one elbow to regard her.

“Well, Hofferson, if you ain’t just full of surprises,” Calhoun said, clearly still breathless. Her smile looked genuine. “I figured you were good, but…” she nodded, like she was admitting the words. “I didn’t quite figure you for that.”

Astrid shrugged, a little awkwardly. “And I didn’t figure you for fucking recruits.”

Luckily, Calhoun barked with laughter again. “I don’t make a habit of it,” she said. “You… you’re something else, Hofferson. You really are.”

“Huh,” said Astrid, not sure what else would be a good response.

“I was counting, though. You still owe me.”

“You still owe me a shirt,” Astrid retorted, and Calhoun gave another snort of a laugh. “I’d call that even.”

“I’ll get you one of mine. Not many advantages to uniform, might as well use ‘em.”

She supposed that it would be hard to tell whose shirt you were wearing, give or take how well it fit. Astrid was quite a bit shorter than Calhoun, but not much smaller by the time that her muscles were taken into account. And shirts were always supposed to be tucked in anyway.

Astrid had not missed the other words, though. “Don’t make a habit of it, then?” she said.

But the corner of Calhoun’s lips quirked upwards. “I could make an exception,” she said. “You just gotta prove to me that you _be_ an exception.”

“I hope you mean exceptional,” said Astrid. She tucked one arm up to support her head, as nonchalant as she could manage still naked and with her heart not quite returned to its normal rate. When Calhoun caught her eye, she gave her cockiest grin. “I don’t settle for anything less.”

“You know what, Hofferson?” Calhoun grinned in reply. “I believe you. I really do.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No Spoon, Can’t Find Your Shirt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679039) by [ashleybenlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleybenlove/pseuds/ashleybenlove)




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